manager of the bakery, of Miskowitz
“I keep the tally box and the front shutter, and I do not abide a dusty counter or a lazy boy.”
Things Cecily had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
If any soul has seen a small wooden St Nicholas that used to sit above the hearth, I would have it back. It has no value in coin, but it is mine. It must have fallen behind a sack, but I cannot find it in the dark.
Nota scribaeShe scrubbed the table the entire time she spoke, moving nothing.
the eve of St George, at Compline
Soldiers on the road mean the grain is dearer again. I count the tally box twice and still the margins are as tight as a pinched nerve. God grant these men move on before the harvest, or it will be a hungry winter for us all.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Richard is lingering in the loft again instead of hauling the heavy sacks. Lord give me patience. Frantishek would have had the flour moved before the bells rang, but this one complains of his back if he so much as lifts a spoon.
the Wednesday of the second week of Lent, at Terce
A quiet morning at the shutter. William has the fires hot and the loaves are good. I know the village wives whisper about our match when they buy their bread. Let them whisper, so long as they pay in good coin.
Nota scribaeShe asked that the last part be struck out and then that it be put back.
Candlemas, at Sext
Another winter breaking. The ledger is balanced. William lit a candle for his late mother Eleanor today. We work hard so the cold does not bite as it did when she was alive. The bread sells, praise be.
She is at peace in Sedletz, God willing. The oven is hot.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I will help you look for it in the yard, wife. You should have said.
See to the fires, William. I will find it myself.